


Tender Lumplings Everywhere

by ladydragona, SylviaW1991



Series: Simply Meant to Be [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental Child Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion, Aziraphale’s well on his way to recovery, But certain beings want to make one more splash, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Patchwork Being Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), casual horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28434666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: Before Crowley sent the Angels skyward for an extended timeout, they were working on something new. A chance to fix past mistakes, perhaps, though Aziraphale certainly doesn't see it that way.The little angel he finds in the Angels' former mansion after a particularly dark and stormy night needs a rescue. She also needs a home, but that's going to take a little bit of fumbling.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Meant to Be [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981459
Comments: 30
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ladydragona  
> Welcome to the final (so far) installment of Simply Meant to Be. While we have no specific plans to add anymore when this is done, it's entirely possible we might want to revisit this world again. Thank you to everyone who stuck with us through the main series and then kept coming back for more!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> Hopefully you all enjoy Alya. And if you don't enjoy fanon kids, that's totally fine. You have 8 previous installments and, well, who knows? We may add more in the future 🥰  
> This has been a great world to explore and we hope you've enjoyed the ride more than any of us have enjoyed 2020

He still wasn’t used to wandering about town on his own, most often preferring to be on the arm of Halloween’s long-legged monarch. Not only was he typically uncertain as to how he would be perceived by his fellow citizens, he was very privately worried about running into-

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale greeted, nerves prickling over his fabric skin. “Michael, Uriel... Sandalphon.” He had a basket over his arm, something he cradled closer to his body on instinct. They liked to look at the things he had, make sure they were approved and would take them if they weren’t. After only a month away from them, it was difficult to remember that they had no right to do so any longer, as he belonged to no one but himself. And, in an entirely different way, to Crowley. They couldn’t take his things, he reminded himself. They had no right to even touch his things without his consent. 

His basket was suddenly out of his hands, however, and into Uriel’s grasp. Xey lifted the tartan-patterned blanket and scoffed. “Shouldn’t be surprised to see you going off to read.”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading,” he replied, reminding himself that he was allowed to talk back to them. They couldn’t do anything to him anymore. 

Squeaking wheels made him wince anyway, Sandalphon’s voice uncomfortably close. “Is it... pornography?”

Heat from flames threatened and, as much as he didn’t want to show any fear, he drew his coat tighter around himself and took a step away. “It isn’t any of your business.”

“It’s some kind of play,” Uriel announced, Aziraphale wincing as he heard the rapid flip of pages. He didn’t want xem touching his things, but the demands that xey stop clogged in his throat.

“What’s this?” Michael wondered, also reaching into the basket. When they plucked up his little Christmas angel, he scurried forward to snatch it back from them. He liked to carry the little decoration around with him, still charmed by his very first Christmas present. Even though he hadn’t gotten it on Christmas, it had come wrapped and everything. In his opinion, that made it count and it had come from Crowley.

“It’s mine,” he snapped, whisking the basket away as well. “And I’ll thank you to leave it be. And me, for that matter. You have no right-”

He yelped when Sandalphon and Uriel grabbed him, arms and legs snagged without preamble, the two of them carrying him into the darkness of a nearby alley despite his writhing desperation. Gabriel and Michael followed, the latter picking up his Christmas angel again and studying it from every angle in their usual disinterested manner. 

“Coo-ee!” a blessedly familiar voice called, and both he and his things were dropped without ceremony.

In a flash they were gone, and all Aziraphale could do was gather up his basket and the items which had tumbled from it. He picked up his angel, aghast to find one of the wings had been torn off. “You... you bad Angels,” he snapped. And it was not said, in any meaning of the word, in a good way.

Tracy helped him to his feet, but he brushed off her concerns with a strained smile and asked her not to tell Crowley. He’d tell him on his own when he was home later.

Not that he did. If Crowley had noticed the fresh stitching on his Christmas angel that night, he hadn’t said and Aziraphale didn’t bring it up. There was no reason to upset him, after all.

He still believed that well over a year later, and it hardly mattered now. The Angels were gone and had been for months, and there was a fresh wedding ring on his finger and a massive serpent cradling him in his coils as he read. Aziraphale pet him idly between the turning of pages, lights only supplied by candles and the occasional wild flash of lightning. It was the sort of storm Halloween Town reveled in, many of the wetter creatures eager to play in it and some of the electric-run creations extending lightning rods and hopes.

For Aziraphale, it was just a reminder of his beginning. Or his re-beginning. Waking up on an operating table in Michael’s lab, lightning crashing overhead and waking up his mind. Turning his ragdoll body into something functioning, something _alive_. These particular storms didn’t come often, but they did usually result in newcomers to Halloween Town.

It was for that reason that Crowley had to leave when the clouds finally parted, slowly and reluctantly unwinding himself from around his patchwork husband and sprouting limbs. Aziraphale tucked him into the thick coat he’d made and given him the previous Christmas, kissing him goodbye and giggling at the way Crowley swept him right off his feet for it and promised to be home soon before disappearing out the door. Wily old serpent, he thought fondly, waving when Mayor Shadwell and Tracy arrived in their boisterous vehicle. Crowley’s barely muffled groan at their appearance only made Aziraphale giggle some more.

It was a lovely life he’d found himself in, really, wishing only that he’d remembered to ask Crowley to stoke the fire before he’d left. Perhaps he’d bake something. The oven always heated the kitchen up nicely. But first, he had a book to finish. Settling in his armchair with a tartan quilt and his book back in hand, Aziraphale was content.

But then he noticed something... odd. He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been, though it must have been quite some time with the moon high overhead now and the fire mere wisps of smoke. It was what he could see outside that was strange, however, a distant light that should not be there. The Angels’ manor had been dark for the better part of a year. There shouldn’t be anyone inside. Crowley had said in no uncertain terms that the place was off-limits and anyone caught trespassing would be punished. Normally, an invitation to cause mayhem, but everyone had understood otherwise. The Angels were gone, and best left forgotten. Their manor would hopefully fall to ruins before they made it back, and Aziraphale was privately alright with that.

He wasn’t alright with the flickering light from his old quarters. He wasn’t alright with the shadow on the window. It looked like a winged being. His fingers flexed on his book, gaze falling to the Christmas angel and its semi-permanent perch on their mantel. Its stitched wing.

Well.

He wasn’t the same frightened being he’d been when he’d damaged it. If the Angels had somehow returned - had they ridden lightning to the ground, perhaps? - they needed to be dealt with. Crowley had sent them away, and Aziraphale would be happy to tell him they were still unwelcome.

He rose before he could talk himself out of it, before he could remind himself that this was likely a wretched idea, and tugged firmly at his waistcoat. He nabbed his coat off the coat rack, pulling it on tightly around himself as he made his way outside. Locking the door behind him, he kept his gaze on the light in the Eastern tower and sped towards a place he’d promised himself he would never go back to. They couldn’t hurt him, though. He wouldn’t allow it.

He waded through the mists their living lightning storms were usually accompanied by, the path old and still familiar. He’d taken this walk too many times, sneaking back in and hating every step. Wishing he could turn back around and settle in Crowley’s arms - or coils, he wasn’t particularly picky when it came to his husband - and never leave. He was silly for not knowing he’d have been welcomed, sillier for thinking he owed the Angels so much of his autonomy.

Silly for feeling those same old fears welling again the nearer he drew to their property.

Swallowing, telling himself that being afraid was ludicrous, he accidentally went in through a side door and was halfway up the stairs before he realised what he’d just done. Oh, dear. He had absolutely no business just bursting in like this. Not only was this not his home, he didn’t want it to be and he was there on... Well, perhaps he shouldn’t be there. He didn’t exactly have any official authority in telling them to bugger right off, after all. Perhaps he should’ve waited for Crowley after all.

Whilst scolding himself, standing there in the middle of the stairs, he noticed flame. Small and flickering, just a candle rather than what he was used to from the Angels. His brows drew together in confusion. They were flaming beings, able to put off their own light source at a moments’ notice. The only candles had been Aziraphale’s, and he’d left most of them behind. Crowley’s home had, excitingly enough, electric lights.

As he watched the flame draw across the hall, he pressed himself against the wall and hoped to not be noticed by whatever this was. He couldn’t imagine what sort of winged beast might be attempting to make this manor their home. He had even less official ability to make someone besides the Angels vacate, so what the moon was he supposed to do here?

Probably leave and fetch Crowley, he admitted to himself just as the being came into view. Aziraphale stared, quietly stunned. It was... But it couldn’t be. It was impossible. He’d left it on the mantel and it couldn’t _walk_ or carry a candle. Nor was it child-sized, reminding him of a tinier member of The Them and, he slowly realized, himself. It was covered in seams and wearing only a thin shift. Less likely to get in the way during animation, he recalled Michael saying in their bored way when Aziraphale had asked the very uncomfortable “Why am I wearing this? Terribly, ah, impractical.”

Suddenly, this mobile version of Aziraphale’s Christmas angel made a muffled sound before leaping back and stumbling on unsteady legs. The candle fell to the floor, burning itself out on the way to leave them in darkness.

“Gosh!” Aziraphale gasped, hurrying up the familiar stairs without issue. He felt for the candle and winced a touch as warm wax spilled over his fingertips. He found a match in his pockets and quickly lit it to get a better look at this little patchwork being.

She was gazing at him with wide, frightened blue eyes. Silken curls tumbled limply to her shoulders and, to the stuttering of Aziraphale’s ticking heart, he realised that her mouth was stitched shut. “Oh,” he sighed. “Oh, you poor thing...” She must’ve had a voice box else she wouldn’t have been able to make a sound at all, so for them to have given her one yet removed her ability to speak otherwise...

Their cruelty was truly boundless. “Are you alone, my dear? Nod for yes.”

Her head bobbed, curls flouncing, and she made no move to escape when Aziraphale stepped closer. Her wings, he noted, were merely thin decoration. They’d made his Christmas angel on purpose, made her unable to speak on purpose, and he could only fathom they’d done so and created a child to boot in an effort to make a more obedient slave than he’d proven to be.

And they had clearly set this up before being whisked away, else she wouldn’t have awoken alone. They would’ve been there already, prepared to tell her who they were, what they wanted from her, and nothing more. Nothing more that mattered.

He offered a hand and a smile that she tried to return. Her seams pulled taut, and the expression faded quickly. Still, she slipped her hand into Aziraphale’s and let him help her up. “Now,” he said briskly, hoping Crowley wouldn’t be too cross with him, “this is hardly the place for a young lady. Why don’t I take you home and we’ll get this all sorted? I’m afraid I’ve left my seam ripper or I’d fix you right now.”

She patted her mouth and he nodded. “Yes, my dear. I’ll take care of you. Don’t you fret. As you can see, I’m rather familiar with stitches like yours.” She smiled again, as best as she could, but her eager nods told him far more than her expression. “Wonderful. Now, ah, hm. I don’t suppose there were clothes for you in the lab? The room you awoke in,” he clarified, and she shook her head. 

“Right,” he sighed, then hummed in consideration. “Well, I’ve got more than enough fabric for you at home. We’ll make you something nice and warm to wear.” Not that she’d need much to keep warm. He certainly didn’t, though her padding didn’t seem quite so thick as his own. “In the meantime...” He whisked off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It dwarfed her, but he still plucked her and the candle up, settling the former on his hip as he took her downstairs.

He wasn’t going to leave her. The idea of it didn’t even occur to him, nor did the thought that she wasn’t at all his responsibility. She was an illegal, alone creation, she needed someone, and he’d come to her. Taking her home and fixing her some clothes - and likely a meal as he remembered being quite ravenous upon that first awakening - was the least he could do. No one, in his opinion, deserved to stay in a crumbling manor. So much so that he left the door open should any of the more sentient suits of armour wish to escape. They’d surely noticed Sandalphon’s lack of presence, and he was glad the girl had gone to the safety of the Eastern tower and not off anywhere else.

She clung a little tighter to him as he made his way through the town, the fog still thick and wonderfully eerie music drifting from the square where a gathering of the newest beings would likely be. Meeting their Pumpkin King and learning the rules and being assigned a home if one hadn’t already been provided and whatever else it was that Crowley had to grit his teeth and bear. Poor dear. 

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he murmured to the patchwork child. “Halloween Town is only as frightening as you want it to be. My husband’s in charge, and he’s made it quite wonderful.” Aziraphale gave a little prideful wiggle that made muffled laughs spill against his shoulder. “There we are. I know it may seem a bit odd at first, but you’ll be just fine here,” he promised, only shifting her to get his key out of a coat pocket. He set her down in the doorway, sweeping the coat away and hanging it back on the rack. She didn’t go far, so he let her little hand slip into his when she reached out and guided her to the parlour.

He bundled her into his favourite armchair and scurried out for his seam ripper, measuring tape, and fabrics for her to choose from. “Now this won’t hurt a bit, I promise you. We’re able to tolerate quite a bit with these bodies of ours.”

Carefully, kneeling in front of the armchair, he undid the stitches closing her mouth, and she rubbed her jaw carefully. He smiled, sitting back on his heels, and she returned the smile with a bright grin. It was beautifully horrifying. “How does that feel, my dear?”

“Better,” she replied slowly, testing her ability to speak. He could remember it still himself, the way the body he was in didn’t quite match the one his brain remembered. “Thank you.”

He patted her knee and rose, handing her the basket of fabrics. “Now you pick out whichever pattern you like best, and I’ll get to work. By the time my husband’s home, we’ll have you a fine... Hm. Would you prefer a dress or trousers?”

Bright eyes gleamed. “A dress!”

“A dress, then,” he agreed easily, taking the fabrics she chose around his measuring and whipping up the simple pattern in no time at all whilst she chattered to him about the things she remembered about her old life - very little - and peppered him with questions about where they were, things he was more than happy to answer.

Finally, as he was helping her pull the dress over her hair and fluffing her curls, he heard the door open. Oh, dear. “Just wait one moment. My husband’s home.” 

He didn’t think Crowley would be too cross with him, though he was rather aware that the wisest choice would’ve been to take the girl - gosh, he still didn’t know her name - to the town square rather than bring her home. But it hadn’t actually occurred to him until right then, scurrying around the corner in time to watch Crowley throw his coat onto the rack with a flick of irritation. “A busy night, darling?”

“You have no idea,” Crowley said, running his hands down his face with a groan. “I hate it when we get an influx of ghosts. More than half the time they don’t understand they're dead and you have to explain it over and over to get it through their thick- well- not skulls, but you know what I mean. The rest of the time they're distraught and wailing all over the place. Bloody nightmare.” He went to Aziraphale immediately, taking his husband into his arms and nuzzling his hair.

“Well, you can hardly blame them. Arriving here can be quite the shock to some.” Even with his nerves high, Aziraphale was able to sink into Crowley’s embrace with a soft sigh. “Are you peckish at all? I was about to make something.”

Crowley hummed and nodded. “Yeah, suppose I could eat. What were you thinking?”

“Ah. Just something quick. Our, er...” Aziraphale plucked at Crowley’s jacket. “Our guest needs to eat.”

“Guest?” Crowley frowned and wracked his brain to try and remember who they were expecting. Tracy and Shadwell had been with him and The Them had been recruited to assist with the more corporeal arrivals. “I thought Anathema wasn’t supposed to be by for another few days.”

“It isn’t her, dearest. It’s... Well, it’s rather complicated, actually. There was a light, you see, at the Angels’ manor, and of course, I found that to be quite peculiar. So I, er, went to investigate. And I found-” He stepped back, wringing his hands together. “Well, they always threatened to replace me, so I suppose it shouldn’t be that much of a shock. Michael has quite the collection of brains, I’m afraid, but I never expected them to actually...” He trailed off, not quite sure what to make of the expression on Crowley’s face. “They built a little girl, and the storm... I couldn’t leave her there.”

Crowley looked from Aziraphale, down the hall, back to Aziraphale, hands slowly rising to grasp at his upper arms. “There’s- You- What- You went to the manor?”

“For pity’s sake, Crowley, there was a light at the Eastern tower. I had to go see why.”

“A- a light? Why was there a light? There’s not supposed to be a light.”

Aziraphale smiled weakly. Oh, his darling. “I know. Come meet her. I don’t want her to think I’ve left her alone.”

Crowley was slowly piecing together what Aziraphale was trying to tell him. The Angels had left someone, or something, behind when he had done away with them. Perhaps he should have done a sweep of the place before announcing it as off limits. He clutched Aziraphale close, eyes narrowed down the hall. “Alone? What if it’sss dangerous?”

Aziraphale giggled, reaching up to pat his cheek. “She’s not, dearest. I just finished making her a dress, actually, and she’s a touch younger than The Them. And she’s, ah, a bit like me.”

“Like you?” Curiosity piqued, Crowley stretched to try and peek around the corner. Though he still did not trust it; the Angels might have made Aziraphale, but that did not mean they couldn’t make something more malevolent.

“Stop that,” Aziraphale scolded, breaking away from him. “She came alive in a decrepit, empty manor without a single thing to her name and her mouth stitched shut. I won’t have you being suspicious of her.”

Crowley huffed. “Yes, absolutely terrible. That doesn’t mean it- she- isn’t some trick. What if-” He stopped short at the very upset look that colored Aziraphale’s face. “Nygh. That’s not- I don’t mean- Can you blame me for being worried, angel?”

“I would prefer, actually, that you trust my judgement. They gave her a voice box, yet stitched her mouth shut. They didn’t want her to speak. She was just going to be another slave to them, and you’re-” He tugged at his waistcoat, not quite sure where this fierce rush of protectiveness had come from when he’d only known the girl for a few short hours. “If you dare treat her poorly when I’ve said nothing but good things about you, I’ll never forgive you,” he threatened, and whirled around to enter the parlour without him.

She was twirling, giggling to herself over the ripples and swish of her skirt, but she stopped when she realised she’d been caught, smile shy. Aziraphale returned the smile. “Come along, my dear. You can sit at the table while I make us a very late dinner.”

“Okay!” She scampered up to him, ending up hiding behind his leg when Crowley finally appeared in the doorway, her little, flightless wings fluttering nervously.

Crowley wasn’t sure what he expected, but a child-sized replica of the tree-top angel currently sitting on the mantle wasn’t it. And despite his reservations, he could admit she was cute. Possibly even sweet looking. Crowley crouched down, closer to her level, head cocked to the side. “You’re in for a treat. Aziraphale here is the best cook in town.”

She smiled from behind the safety of Aziraphale’s leg. “Okay. Are you really a whole king?”

“Only on Thursdays,” Crowley said and winked.

She giggled and Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile. “Come along now. I can’t cook in here.”

She took Aziraphale’s hand, walking with him and flipping the skirt of her dress with the other hand, clearly thrilled with it. “Do you like my dress?” she asked of Crowley. “He made it, but _I_ got to pick the colour.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Him? You sure? Never seen ‘im sew a day in his life.”

Aziraphale shook his head, giving her hand a squeeze. “He’s teasing you, little one.”

“Okay. Do you like it, though? I do.”

“Oh yeah. Blue’s a good color. Matches your eyes.” It did. Crowley had nabbed the tree-top angel because it looked like Aziraphale, blue eyes, blonde curls, and she was almost a carbon copy. A little miniature Aziraphale. At least this one wasn’t trying to shoot him.

She beamed, letting Aziraphale scoop her up and settle her in a chair at the table. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale ruffled her curls and bobbed up to kiss Crowley’s cheek with a passing, “Thank you, dearest,” on his way to the fridge to dig out cheese and bread. Simple sandwiches would do. The little thing was going to need sleep soon, and his husband was likely to as well.

Crowley preened at the kiss, relieved Aziraphale had decided not to stay mad at him. “Alright, small fry,” Crowley said, pulling up a chair next to hers. “Tell me, do you remember your name?” They didn’t always, but that was usually the easiest question to start with.

She nodded, swinging her legs. Aziraphale had already told her that she would sometimes have fuzzy memories and that it was okay to think about them. “Alya.”

“Alya. Well, that’s not a bad name at all.” While Aziraphale fixed dinner Crowley gently prodded at what Alya already knew about their world. Apparently, Aziraphale had already told her most things and like children were wont to do, she seemed to be taking it in stride. And she had, apparently, woken up in the middle of the recent storm with no idea where she was or why. “Well, you’re very lucky Aziraphale found you.”

“Mmhm. I like this house better than the big place. It’s not as dark.” She gasped when a chipped plate was set in front of her, a simple grilled cheese sliced in half. It oozed green and blue and something in the back of her mind wasn’t so sure about it, but she picked it up and took a bite anyway. It didn’t taste as wrong as it looked, so the fuzzy memories clearly didn’t know everything. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, little dear.” Aziraphale ruffled her curls before setting his husband’s plate down. There was some extra fuzz on his bread since he tended to like the texture. He was truly relieved that Crowley was being so good with her, though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. He was wonderful with The Them and the other scattered children about town, after all. And perhaps he could understand his concerns, considering that she’d come from the Angels’ manor, but they hadn’t had a chance to harm her. They couldn’t do anything at all to stop her from gaining her freedom because of what Crowley had already done to them.

The idea alone that they would’ve treated this little sweetheart the same way they’d treated him made Aziraphale’s stomach roll. He’d never been more grateful for his beloved’s meddling. “Crowley, you’d be alright with her staying in my old room tonight, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm? Yeah, s’no problem. Still your room, angel, even if you don’t have to sleep there anymore.” They were mostly using it to store all of Aziraphale’s sewing and drawing supplies now.

“Yes, but it's our house. I wouldn't want to presume.” Aziraphale leaned down to capture his lips, the kiss brief but sweet. “I love you, you overprotective thing.”

Crowley grinned up at him, at least it seemed Aziraphale wasn't upset anymore. “I'd certainly hope so, you did marry me after all.”

“I did indeed. You still owe me an apology, but it can wait.” He didn't think it would have to wait long. Alya yawned through her next bite. 

Chastised, Crowley did what he always did at meals and unhinged his jaw to swallow the sandwich whole. “Mmm, perfect as always, angel.”

Alya stared at him with wide eyes. “That was _neat_ ,” she announced, Aziraphale laughing as he went to fetch his own plate. 

“You think sssso?” Crowley asked, forked tongue flicking. The acrid smell of lingering lightning was a strange addition to the usual smells of their home. 

“Mmhm.” She stuck out her tongue in a playful mimic, intrigued by this supposed king. At least he didn't seem very scary, even though his grin had sharp fangs. She just didn't think they'd be able to hurt her, not after Aziraphale had painlessly unstitched her mouth. Besides, “'Ziraphale said you were a great big snake sometimes.”

Crowley gasped in mock offence. “A great big snake _sometimes_?! That's slander, is what that is. I'm a great big snake _all_ of the time.” 

Aziraphale chuckled as he took his seat. “I didn't want to confuse her when a being walked in on two legs. You could show her.”

“Oh! Please, please, please!” 

Well, Crowley always liked putting on a bit of a show. He let go of his human looking body, arms and legs sliding away and skin changing to scales. When he was done, he was large enough to encircle the entire kitchen table. Not his full size, that wouldn't fit in the kitchen, but much larger than any natural snake. “Oh, bollockssss. I can feel a sshed coming.” The scales down his back were beginning to feel just a little tight. 

Aziraphale smiled fondly, but Alya looked thrilled. She tapped the table in rhythmic pats to keep from reaching out to touch the enormous snake, fascinated by those sleek dark scales and the rich red underbelly. 

Aziraphale didn't seem to have any reservations over reaching out to touch, fingers sliding over smooth scales. “I believe you're overdue for one, so best to get it out of the way. And you always look so nice after you've shed.”

Crowley leaned into the touch, always happy to be warmed by Aziraphale’s hands. “It'sss not quite ready yet. Few dayss out at mossst.” He glanced at Alya, shifting to drape a coil over her lap while Aziraphale hummed his understanding.

Her squeal was a surprise, but the sound was far more giddy than frightened as she pet him. “Ooh.”

Crowley laid his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Alya's hands were just as warm, but much gentler than Aziraphale's usually were. “You don't sssseem sscared at all, sssmall fry.” 

She blinked at him. “Are you s'posed to be scary?” 

“What?! Of coursse I'm sssupposed to be sscary! I'm the King of Halloween, the Massster of Frightss! I'm a giant sssnake large enough to sswallow little girlsss like you whole.”

She looked at him, then at Aziraphale. Lips twitching, he gave her a nod. “He is supposed to be very frightening, yes. He's normally very good at it, too.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” She patted his scales. “I can pretend?” 

It was like déjà vu. He'd had this _exact_ conversation many years ago in a forest clearing. “Azssiraphale, are you ssure they didn't give her half your brain?” 

“I, ah, I didn't actually look at what they used. As soon as I saw her, the two of us left. We came straight home.”

“I got to wear his coat,” she bragged, as if it was indeed something to brag about and not something inherently sad. 

“Did you now?” Crowley was sure she looked very adorable dwarfed in Aziraphale’s coat. “Azssiraphale is very fond of that coat.” 

“I like all the colours.” 

Aziraphale ruffled her hair, unable to resist her. “So do I, little darling.” 

Crowley huffed, flicking his tongue against Aziraphale’s cheek. “Finissh your dinner, both of you. Thiss ssnake needsss his beauty ssleep.” And he and Aziraphale needed to discuss finding little Alya somewhere to stay.

They certainly did, so Aziraphale encouraged her to finish her sandwich. Or as much as she could manage, considering that her eyelids started to droop and head began to list to one side. Aziraphale scooped her up, her thin arms looped over his shoulders and her cheek resting over his heart. “There we are now. Off to bed with you.”

Crowley changed back to having arms and legs so he could plant a kiss on the top of Aziraphale's head. “Go tuck her in. I'll clean up in here and meet you in our room, yeah?” 

“That's fine. Thank you, dearest.”

Alya sleepily waved at him. “G'night, King Crowley.”

He laughed and ruffled her hair as Aziraphale passed. “Goodnight, small fry.”

Cleaning up the kitchen only took a few minutes and on his way to their bedroom, Crowley stopped outside Aziraphale’s old room. Alya was already tucked in and asleep, but Aziraphale had lingered. Sitting on the edge of bed, running his fingers through her curls and smiling. The sight did something funny to Crowley's chest, made it feel tight and warm. He fidgeted in the doorway for a moment before fleeing to the bedroom. Their fireplace needed stoking, after all. 

By the time Aziraphale finally stepped into their room, it was roaring. He made his way to his husband, pressing himself close in silent demand for a hug. “She asked for a story, and fell asleep before I even came up with a plot.”

Crowley snorted and bundled Aziraphale in his arms, tucking that familiar fluffy head under his chin. “Yeah, kids don't often want plot, angel. Just want to hear your voice.” 

“Yes, well, I don't have much experience with children. Only The Them, really, and they tend to take care of themselves. She seems a bit too young for that.” Certainly the youngest being he knew of in Halloween Town. “Those... those wretched Angels were going to destroy her. Can you imagine? That sweet child forced to... to do so many irritating, dangerous chores.”

“I know, love. S'alright now. They're gone and she's safe.” Crowley curled fingers in Aziraphale's hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “Angel… You- you didn't really think I would be cruel to a kid, did you?”

“Oh, darling, no.” Aziraphale cupped his cheeks, leaning back just enough to look up at him. “I didn't think you'd be _cruel_. Particularly not once you saw her. I was only... You were _so_ suspicious. And you have to understand I know the life they would've intended for her. I lived it, and I can't even fathom her suffering so.”

Crowley leaned into the touch, reaching up to grasp one of Aziraphale's hands and keep it there. “They treated you terribly, and I'm sure she would have suffered the same. I just… I can't lose you, angel, and when you said you found somethi- someone there I- I thought they had made something to hurt you.” 

Aziraphale sighed quietly. “She does hurt me.”

“I don't- What do you mean? I don't understand.” Aziraphale looked quite content with little Alya to him.

“Well... That may not be a fair way to put it. It isn't her doing. It's- She looks like the Christmas angel you gave me, Crowley. She looks like _me_.” Aziraphale pulled away, paced the few steps to their bed so he could sit on the edge and look down at his wringing hands. “I see her, and I see what the Angels intended. They were going to bring her into town and show her off. Their _new servant_. And she wouldn't have been able to say a word because they'd sealed her mouth. She wouldn't have been able to escape because she wouldn't have known the routes like I did. She... Those... Those _wretches_ made her to torture me as much as they did to replace me. I _know_ it. I know it, Crowley.”

“Oh, love.” Crowley knelt at his feet, taking Aziraphale’s twisting hands in his and bringing them to his lips to kiss. “Listen to me. That may very well be, but there is nothing we can do about what-ifs or futures that will never come to pass. She's not going to be hurt, I promise you. You found her, she's safe, and you're safe too.” 

“It still... I just don't understand them, Crowley. But I am inordinately glad that you sent them away. She never has to know what they intended for her.”

“Never,” Crowley agreed, pressing kisses to every knuckle.

“Crowley,” he sighed, letting every kiss press comfort into his skin. “I am sorry for going without you. I was so... I saw that shadow in my old tower, and I was so afraid and angry at the thought that they'd returned. And I know I should've gone to you with her straightaway for a proper introduction, but I was so upset. And she was terribly nervous. I couldn't bear the thought of making her uncomfortable.”

Crowley chuckled, turning Aziraphale's hands over to kiss his palms. “It's alright, it's not as if you were trying to hide her from me.” He moved on to kiss the seams at his wrists. “Stragglers happen all the time anyhow. Tomorrow you can help find the best place for her. Make sure it's up to your very high standards, eh?” 

“Oh, yes! She needs to learn how to sew, of course. So someone will have to teach her. You know how easily I can come apart when something snags.” Aziraphale soaked in the soothing contact, aching heart swelling with love. “And she'll need someone who won't talk about the Angels' manor overmuch, of course. Not right away. Um. Someone who won't push away her memories. She doesn't have many, but they can be helpful and interesting. And someone who'll care for her, obviously. I don't want her hurt.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said, bobbing his head in agreement and slowly scooting closer till he could drape himself over Aziraphale’s knees and lay his head in his lap. “Can make a whole list of demands. I'll make sure it happens.”

Aziraphale gently stroked his hair. “Thank you, darling. I don't want her to have to learn things the hard way, that's all. Even keeping clean poses a few challenges unless one knows what they're doing.” 

“Mmhmm,” Crowley mumbled, eyes drooping. Aziraphale's lap always made the best pillow and when coupled with hair petting, well, sleep was not far off. “S'no problem.”

“My sweet serpent... Come up to bed properly, and you can curl around me however you like.”

Crowley grumbled but pushed himself up anyway. The only thing better than laying in Aziraphale's lap was getting to wrap as many limbs around him as he could. Crowley was more than happy to strip to his pants and slide between the sheets, pulling Aziraphale close when he followed. “Mm, this is better. Always have good ideas.” 

“Yes, I do.” Aziraphale resumed stroking his hair, other hand slipping down his back in gentle pets. “You still owe me an apology.”

“Aaaangel,” Crowley whined. “You know I didn't mean to not trust you.” 

“It still bothered me, Crowley. I know I haven't proven to be the best judge of things regarding the Angels, but I certainly wouldn't bring a being into our home who I thought was dangerous.”

“I know,” Crowley sighed, tangling their legs together and pulling him as close as was possible. “M'sorry for not believing you. Of course you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our home.” 

“Or you, my darling husband.” Aziraphale tucked in, letting himself be surrounded and cocooned in familiar arms. “I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, angel, more than anything.”

Aziraphale knew. He knew very well. He wanted to ensure that Alya would feel as safe and loved wherever she ended up. And a very petty part of him hoped the Angels could see this, could see how spectacularly their plans had failed. He was happy, and he was going to make absolutely certain that their failed attempt at creating a new slave was happy as well. 

Starting when nearly silent footsteps woke him up a few hours later. The sun was peeking through the edges of the curtains, catching in dancing dustmotes and making some of the corner cobwebs glitter. “'Ziraphale?” Alya whispered. “I woke up.”

“So you did,” he murmured. He was still wrapped up in the long limbs of his husband, but he was well-versed in disentangling himself. He only went far enough to sit up and lift the blanket, patting the bed in an instinctive invitation she eagerly accepted. “Did you have lovely nightmares?” 

Alya's nod sent her curls bouncing. “Mmhm. My wings worked.”

“How exciting.”

He tucked an arm around her and she snuggled in, peeking around him to giggle at Crowley. “He's sleeping.”

“Oh, he will for a while yet.” Aziraphale smiled, very in love with and used to his serpentine husband.

“He's silly. Is he having good nightmares?” 

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “I certainly hope so. He seems happy enough. Would you like to help me make breakfast?” 

“Yes, please. Will you tell me a story first?” 

Oh, well, he didn't want to wake Crowley... “Why don't I tell you one during?” 

“Yes, please!” 

Laughter soft, Aziraphale ushered her back out of bed and towards the kitchen, already planning a few more outfits for her. She couldn't sleep in the same clothes she spent her days in, after all, but a story and a meal first. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ladydragona  
> Well, here we are! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with us on this long journey! With this chapter the series will be completed, however there is always the chance we may add more at a later date.
> 
> This year has been a wild ride, but I hope Sylvia and I were able to be a bright spot among the bad ♥️

Waking up alone was commonplace for Crowley, one of the few things that did not really change even after sharing his home with Aziraphale for over a year now. Only rarely did Aziraphale stay in bed, usually sitting up to read when he did. None of that stopped Crowley from reaching out every time he woke, some subconscious part of his brain expecting to find a familiar patchwork being to latch onto.

Crowley grumbled when his wandering hand found nothing but more bedsheets and then the edge. The spot where Aziraphale _had been_ didn't even sport a lingering warmth. How rude.

It was a few long minutes before he could convince himself to actually get up. Stumbling to the closet to dress and then stumbling some more to leave the relative warmth of the bedroom in search of his husband. Quiet voices from the parlour drew his attention and Crowley shuffled his way in that direction.

He stopped to stare in the doorway. Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa, sewing something seafoam green with white polka dots and little Alya tucked close to his side while he weaved some elaborate tale. Alya was soaking it up, gasping and giggling and patting her legs excitedly. The strange tightness in his chest was back. It made him want to run off to get away from it while at the same time, he wanted to stay and watch. Crowley didn’t know why he immediately looked to the windows, something instinctual pushing him to watch for danger, to protect their home.

He shook it off and sauntered in just as Aziraphale was going into detail about a sleigh pulled by skeletal reindeer in a dense fog and telling Alya all about how Crowley just would _not_ listen to him. “S’not like you actually told me _why_ you didn’t want me to go, angel.”

Two sets of blue eyes lit up when they saw him, though only Aziraphale held out a hand to bid him nearer. “And you didn't tell me why you wanted to go so badly, you terror.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Crowley grumbled and shuffled forward, kissing Aziraphale's forehead when he drew near. “Mornin’, angel, small fry. I see Alya shares your early rising habit.”

“So it would seem.” It was another thing for his list of requirements for her home. A hand against the back of Crowley’s neck kept him down for a proper kiss, though Alya's giggles had him breaking it with his own. “Breakfast is on the table. It's likely chilled enough for you by now.”

Crowley happily rubbed their noses together before reluctantly parting to swallow his scrambled eggs. “So, what are you making this time?” he asked when he returned only a few moments later.

“Pyjamas to start, then another dress.”

“A pink one,” she confirmed cheerfully, said fabric spread across her lap. It was tartan, a blue and pink criss-crossing pattern. “Do you like it?” 

“Very cute,” Crowley said, plopping down next to her on the sofa and taking an edge of the fabric between thumb and finger. It was a heavier weave than the blue dress she currently wore. “This should keep you nice and warm. It can get very cold here, 'specially after a rain.” 

“Uh-huh. The windows are icy.”

Aziraphale smiled at them, watching Alya scoot closer to Crowley’s side. “Why don't you show him the last fabric you picked, little one?” 

“Oh!” She flipped the bright, pastel colour over to show off a sleek black Aziraphale usually saved for Crowley’s surprises. “I wanted t'ask you what he should make. 'Cause- So I can be neat like you.”

And there was that tightness again, which was really starting to become a nuisance. Crowley swallowed past it and bobbed his head. “Mmnyeh, why don't you, er, have Aziraphale make you a scarf? Keep your little face warm,” he said, and gave the tip of her nose a tap. 

She gasped and looked to Aziraphale, who nodded indulgently. There was something incredibly sweet about Crowley having a little girl tucked into his side. A something sweet that made Aziraphale’s heart tick out of rhythm. He pressed a palm over it, not quite sure how to make it settle. “Of course, my dear girl. I'll make you one which matches Crowley’s. I suppose you'll need a coat as well. Crowley, do we have enough muslin?” 

“Hmm, dunno. Did you stock back up after making my coat?” 

“Oh...” Aziraphale hummed. “We'll have to put her in my prop one from last Halloween. I'll hem it for now, and then we'll get her some more fabric. She'll have to see the town anyway.”

“Yeah, we can stop by the shop on our way.” He didn't mind the hags that ran it nearly as much as he used to, now that they weren't the ones making his clothes. “What do you think? Ready to explore the town?” 

“Yes, please!” 

Aziraphale smiled, carefully finishing a line of stitches before pinning the seafoam-coloured fabric to be finished later. Setting it aside, he pushed himself up. “I'll just fetch that coat and get it ready.”

When he scurried out in his silent way, Alya looked up at Crowley with wide eyes and a bright smile. “What happened next? In the story? Did you go deliver presents and coal to humans?” 

“Wha- Yeah. 'Course I did. Was a pain, to be honest. Do you know how many kids there are in the world?” At the shake of her head, Crowley groaned dramatically. “Too many!” 

She giggled, climbing into his lap and settling in with all her bright curiosity. “Was it cold? Was it fun?” 

Crowley was surprised but instinctively wrapped arms around her. “Bloody coldest I've ever been in my life. If it weren't for Aziraphale making the outfit for me, I woulda ended up a snake icicle.” Her laugh spurred him on. “Wanna hear a secret?” 

“Yes, please!” 

“Alright, but you can't tell anyone…“ He leaned down to stage whisper in her ear. “While I was out delivering presents, I got stuck in a chimney. The bag was too big and wouldn't go down with me. Almost ruined the whole thing right at the start.” 

She muffled her laughter in her hands. “You're so funny. What was 'Ziraphale doing?” 

“Worrying,” he said from the doorway, heart ticking out of rhythm once again. His husband coiling around a child - one who looked like she could _be_ Aziraphale’s - wasn't a sight he'd ever expected to see. It wasn't ever something he'd thought about before. It was a dangerous thought, really. It could lead far too easily to things like _keep_. “And trying to save Santa myself,” he continued, carrying the cream coat to his armchair. “It went as well as Crowley’s present deliveries.”

“Oi. My deliveries went just fine! It's not my fault the humans couldn't appreciate our town's brilliance.”

“They appreciate you on Halloween, dearest, when they should do.” Aziraphale began drawing up and pinning the sleeves on the coat, neatly undoing seams to make it small enough to fit. He could always just give her this, really, but he wanted her to have something new. Something all her own. “Besides, we did make last Halloween properly frightening for them.”

Crowley grinned and tucked Alya's head under his chin while they watched Aziraphale work. “You bet we did. Think you gave me a run for my money for the crown, angel. Got quite a few trophies, as I recall.” 

Aziraphale wiggled. _Technically_ , he'd gotten the most screams as they'd started before Crowley had made his appearance. “Perhaps, but I'm certainly not a challenge for you. I'd much rather you kept your crown.”

“Well aren't you in luck, because I'm not ready to give it up yet.” Even if some of his responsibilities were tiresome. “And I think Adam would be a bit put out.” 

“A bit,” Aziraphale agreed with a fond smile. 

“Adam's the leader of The Them,” Alya remembered. “They did the reindeer.”

“Yes, clever thing.”

“You'll get to meet them soon enough. The little hellions would probably run the town if I didn't corral them on occasion.”

“Okay. Will you please finish the story?” she asked, smiling at Aziraphale since she was tucked too close to also smile at Crowley. 

Smile indulgent and far too fond, Aziraphale nodded. “Well, yes, as I was saying. While Crowley spread chaos...”

Halloween Town was not nearly as frightening in the light as it was in the dark, but Alya kept close to the two adults. Her woolen pink dress and hand-me-down coat kept her warm, long black scarf not matching at all but her smile was big and bright underneath it. One hand was clasped with Aziraphale’s and the other in Crowley’s to keep her from running off. Her curiosity was seemingly boundless, her eagerness to see and learn everything about her new home charming. 

And Aziraphale was so incredibly relieved that her curiosity could be sated rather than hidden. No one was going to hurt her for asking questions as far as he and Crowley were concerned. Another thing on Aziraphale’s growing list of requirements for her new home. 

Crowley wasn't quite sure what was going on with himself. He was fairly sure he couldn't have a heart attack, but he didn't have any other explanation for the strange feeling in his chest. The mild panic when they temporarily lost sight of Alya near the swamp was also concerning. She'd only walked away to peek into a stump, but it had sent his heart racing as if there were tangible danger.

At least now they were back in the town proper. Crowley was glad he had an excuse to not go inside the fabric shop. The hags were still inclined to get handsy, but he'd lifted Alya onto his shoulder and approached whatever tall thing she wanted a closer look at. 

“Coo-ee, Crowley!” Tracy greeted, leaving the shop herself after saying hello to Aziraphale. “I was just telling Mr. Aziraphale that- Oh, well, look who we have here!” 

Alya ducked down, shyly hiding from the witch as well as she could on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Hello, Madame.” He smiled a little at Alya's sudden shyness, just another thing she seemed to share with Aziraphale. “Tracy, this is Alya. Alya, this is Madame Tracy, she's the mayor's assistant and helps run things around here.” 

“Hi,” she greeted with a small wave, little wings fluttering nervously. 

“Hello, dear,” Tracy replied, smile soothing. Until it turned on Crowley, sharpening with delight. “She's the spitting of Mr. Aziraphale, isn't she? You must be delighted.”

Crowley didn't know what that look was for. “Has some of his mannerisms too, if I'm honest. They were both up at the crack of dawn this morning.” 

“Oh, well, I'm surprised you weren't. Adding a new addition to the family must be so exciting.” She patted his arm. “I'm so glad the pair of you took advantage of the storm, luv. She seems like such a sweet thing.”

“Wha-” Crowley blinked twice, mouth working soundlessly for a moment. “That's- We didn't- She's not ours.” 

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed. She's a sweetie. She looks too much like Aziraphale.”

Crowley could feel his face heating up. _They_ hadn't made her, the Angels had. He didn't want to bring them up though, not in front of Alya. Not yet. Even though he knew he should dissuade Tracy of this notion that Alya was theirs, because she wasn't, she wasn't anyone's… yet. He and Aziraphale had agreed to find her a home, but Crowley found himself nodding. “Y-yeah. Got, ah, got two angels on my hands now, eh?” 

“I'd say so, and she's even got the wings to boot.” Tracy hefted her bag, suspiciously shaped like a body, and sent them a cheery wave. “Now you have a lovely day, dears.”

“Bye!” Alya called, still largely hiding in Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley waved weakly after her. What was he supposed to do now? Tracy was convinced Alya belonged to them and he hadn't tried very hard to convince her otherwise. Not that the idea was… distasteful, now that it was out there.

Kids were always something Crowley considered Not His Area. He liked the various children in Halloween Town, whether they were born here or brought by whatever powers brought everyone else, and they seemed to like him well enough, but he'd never actually thought about raising one. For the longest time he'd been a happily confirmed bachelor, and now he had Aziraphale but… well… children were not something the two of them could make on their own via natural means. Besides, they were happy as they were; there was no reason to consider shaking that up.

They were happy as they were and he'd just allowed one of Halloween Towns biggest gossips to assume they'd “expanded their family.” Oh no.

He gave Alya's knee a gentle pat. “Alright up here, small fry?” 

“Mmhm. Was she the Madame Tracy in the story? Who's friends with Mr. Mayor Shadwell?” 

“The very same,” Crowley said with a laugh. “She's an odd duck, but good people. Her and Shadwell handle the day-to-day running of the town for me.” 

“Oh.” She couldn't swing her legs or wriggle how she wanted, high on Crowley’s shoulder, but she did fidget with his hair. “You said I'm not yours.”

Crowley froze for a second. Shit, he'd been so panicked about Tracy, he'd practically forgotten the topic of discussion on his shoulder. “Ngk. Mmnyeh. I mean, _technically_ you're not. We didn't- Tracy thinks we made you, which isn't quite right, is it?” 

“ _Did_ somebody make me? It was all dark, and... and nobody was there. Only 'Ziraphale came.”

“Er…” Crowley blew out a deep breath. Fuck. “Yes. Someone… Someone did. The- the same beings who made Aziraphale made you too.”

The Angels, as Aziraphale had maintained throughout the tale, were his employers. He'd never explained or even hinted at the full nature of their relationship to her, so they weren't a thought in her mind. “Oh. Then... am I theirs? Whoever made me?” 

“No,” Crowley said firmly. “They… they were not kind beings and do not live here anymore.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I, ah, I guess you could say you’re a free agent.”

“So...” She didn't understand how or why they'd make her and leave. Or how or why Aziraphale had then come to find her. They'd created him too, so what did that mean? They weren't kind, but he was. Crowley was too. Alya plucked at her scarf, falling quiet. Being a free agent sounded a lot like being alone. 

She was still quiet when Aziraphale bustled out, a little embarrassed and a lot uncertain. Still, he smiled at the pair of them. “I've got enough muslin now, I think, and I picked up a few extra things I couldn't resist. The hags are really quite, ah... Oh. Is something wrong? What's happened?” 

“Just, ah, wouldn't say 'wrong,' exactly.” Why did he have to open his big mouth? Alya _had_ been quiet, though, and the nagging feeling that he'd said something that upset her had settled like a lead weight in his gut. “Maybe we should head home, though. Let you put your things away, make sure small fry here has lunch?” Tell Aziraphale about Tracy without Alya right there listening in. 

“Yes, of course. It has been a busy little journey. How does lunch sound, Alya?” 

She didn't look over at him, and he almost didn't hear, “I like lunch,” muffled as it was by her scarf. 

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale sent Crowley a bewildered, worried look. What could have possibly happened during their short separation? 

Crowley tried his best to not look guilty but did grimace a bit back at him. He didn't know what it was he'd said, but felt like it was his fault all the same.

The walk home was quick but quiet, much more quiet than the one into town. Aziraphale kept shooting him increasingly distressed looks despite the fact he couldn't very well explain with the child right there.

He still kept Alya on his shoulder, though, only setting her down once they were inside.

She didn't argue or fight or even get upset whilst Aziraphale carefully unwound the scarf and helped her out of her borrowed coat, this limp and obedient child a far cry from the excitable, curious one they'd known so far. Aziraphale was beside himself in a panic, uncertain how she'd been hurt but knowing full-well that she had been. “Alya, would you like to colour for a little bit?” 

“Okay.” She let Aziraphale take her hand, let him guide her to the bedroom she'd spent the night in. She was left there with a scattering of colours and a blank sketchbook, and Aziraphale puffed his cheeks as he made his way to the kitchen to find his husband. 

“ _What_ have you done to her?” 

Crowley hissed from where he was leaning against the counter. “ _I_ didn't do anything! You _know_ I wouldn't do anything!” 

“I know she's not sorrowful for no reason either.” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “Tracy wouldn't have said anything cruel to her either. So what happened? She isn't herself at all, and I don't like it, Crowley. Not one single bit.”

“No, she didn't say anything cruel. She just, ngk, she saw how much Alya looks like… well, looks like _you_.” Crowley ran his hands down his face. “Saw how she looks, saw her with _me_ and, well, made an assumption.” 

“The same one the hags did, I assume, when they saw you carrying a child about.” Aziraphale twisted his ring wedding around and around, brow furrowing. “That she's... That she's ours.”

Crowley flushed and scratched at the countertop with a sharp nail. “Yup. And, ah, I might have panicked a bit and told Tracy she wasn't… Not that Tracy listened to me, mind, but then Alya had… questions.”

Aziraphale rummaged in the cabinet and retrieved a carafe of amber liquid. He filled two glasses in short order and held one out to his husband. “What questions?” he demanded, half his scotch gone before Crowley finished explaining the fumbling conversation he'd had with the confused child. Sat at the table, Aziraphale turned it over and over in his mind in search of any sort of response. Anything he himself may have said or done differently. 

“I... told the hags we were leaving it up to her,” he admitted. “Whether, ah, whether or not she stayed with us. I was assured we would make excellent... parents.”

Crowley swirled the scotch in its glass, only taking a small sip of it. “I know you don't think so, but you're really good with her. She likes you… and uh… I might've told Tracy she wasn't ours at first but… I didn't keep fightin' her when she didn't listen… just kinda, you know, accepted it.” 

Aziraphale watched him for a moment, heart speeding up. “Did... Did you? Is, ah, is keeping her something you might want?” 

“Thought about it. A bit. S'not like there's any, you know, rules against it. Just didn't, ah, didn't want to make any decisions without you. Didn't want to get the kid all excited then crush her if… if you didn't, you know.” Crowley laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Obviously failed at that.” 

“Obviously,” Aziraphale echoed, taking another sip of his drink. “I know you didn’t mean to, sweet, but you did effectively tell her she’s all alone in the world. We know what the Angels would have done with her, but she doesn’t.” He set his glass down, but cupped it and stared down into the amber liquid. “I... I’ve never thought about having a child around.” If they grew at all, it wasn’t at a rate anyone would call consistent. There was no telling how long they would have her, particularly since any growth would likely have to be, er, self-motivated, considering the sort of being she was. “I’ve never thought of it as a... a thing which could happen for me. Let alone for _us_.”

Crowley snorted. “Makes two of us, then. Wasn't on my radar either. I'm not… I'm not opposed, angel, but it is a big responsibility.” 

“I’m well-aware, dearest. She is a bit, well... She’s a person. An entire person we would be responsible for. She isn’t independent enough to run off with The Them, even.” Which, he realised with a small grimace, was likely the point. Too young to run away. Too young to know it was even an option. “But I... Oh, Crowley, when I saw you with her on the couch this morning and when you were so terribly worried about her possibly falling into the swamp, I...” Aziraphale pressed a hand over his heart. “It’s so wretchedly sweet.”

“Stop it…” Crowley grumbled, cheeks reddening and rotating his glass in his hands just to watch it swirl. “You were the sweet one, last night, when I peeked in and you were watching her sleep. And this morning, telling her stories.”

“She asked for one. The happiest one I knew.”

“Don't you know it's cheating to use the story of how you were wooed into falling in love with me?” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Silly serpent. If I wanted to tell her how I fell in love with you, I would've told her about our first meeting.”

“Oh, you can't tell her that one. I fell out of a bloody tree! She won't think I'm cool anymore.” Crowley grinned back, reveling in the return of their usual banter. 

“She does think you're very cool, but I do too.” Aziraphale’s smile turned slightly wicked. “Even though you did indeed tumble out of a tree, attempting to spy on me.”

“Wasn't ssspying,” Crowley grumbled. “Was… just curious about someone new. S'my job, after all. No spying about it.” 

“Hm. I wonder how long you would have spied on me had you not fallen out of the tree.”

“As long as I bloody well wanted to.” Or until he'd gotten curious enough to slither up behind him for a minor fright… Maybe falling out of the tree had worked in his favour after all.

Aziraphale giggled and rose to cross to him, bobbing up to wind his arms around Crowley’s neck. “To your original point, though, it’s not cheating at all. Your very grand scheme to finally bring us together properly worked. I’m happy with you, and I think... Well, I think she could be too. If we want her here, of course. And considering how long my list has gotten for her future home, I don’t think I’ll ever find a better place than here. Do you?”

“See, that's the trouble with having high standards, angel, end up havin' to do it yourself.” Crowley leaned down to kiss him. “But I think you're right… She could do a lot worse than us.” 

“Then... Are we...” It seemed so fast, but she needed someone immediately. They had the space. They had the capacity to take care of her the way she deserved and needed. They most certainly had experience in how to manage Halloween Town whilst being a patchwork being, or at least one of them did. The other had experience in assisting. “Gosh, Crowley, are we agreeing to keep her?”

“I think we are, angel,” Crowley said, pressing a grin against Aziraphale's cheek. “So long as she wants, of course.” 

“Oh, my, yes. We do need to ask her. To, ah, discuss all of this with her. She’s still so upset, you disastrous darling.”

He gave Aziraphale a squeeze. “I know, m'sorry. I messed up.” 

Aziraphale pressed their cheeks together. “I don’t know that I would’ve been much more competent than you, frankly. It’s... an unusual situation. Perhaps we should have expected the assumptions, considering the way she looks.”

Crowley couldn't help but laugh. “She really does look so much like you, it's almost uncanny. And I think it triggers some kind of snake instinct. I keep wanting to look out for danger, even in our own bloody house.” 

“She’s a curious little thing, I’m afraid. There may be more danger than we’d expect. Like, ah, the fireplace. We may need a proper grate to keep an accident from occurring.”

Sometimes having a vivid imagination was more trouble than it was worth. Crowley winced at the mental image. “Fuck, you're right, leave it to me. I'll take care of it.” 

“Thank you, dearest. You just be your usual, protective self, and I think she’ll be just as fine as I am here. If she wants to stay.” Aziraphale pulled back to look at him. “Do you think she will?”

Crowley blew out a breath. “Angel, you're askin' the bloke who spent _how many_ years arguing with himself over whether the being he was in love with loved him back or not.”

Well, considering that Aziraphale had been just as oblivious... “I suppose you’re correct. We’ll just have to apologise for- _You’ll_ have to apologise, and everything’ll be okay again.”

“Right. Yeah. I can- I can do that.” 

“I know you can, my dear. I’ll help you.”

Crowley bobbed his head and kissed Aziraphale on the forehead before stepping back. “Right. Well, let's go. Poor kid’s probably freaked out by now.” 

“Of course. She’s been worried since you spoke to Tracy.” Taking his hand, Aziraphale tugged him out of the kitchen. Some of his own worries had been alleviated, but they’d only ended up replaced with something else. First, her agreement. Second, how in Halloween were they supposed to raise a child? They could. He was sure they could muddle through somehow, but it was still something to think about. It was quite a bit to think about, and every single thought came to an abrupt halt when they reached his old room.

It was empty.

“Oh... Oh, dear.”

“This is where you left her, innit?” Crowley asked, noting the colours and mostly blank paper on the desk. 

“I thought she’d be too young to run off. I-” Aziraphale whirled to quickly make his way to the entryway, noting the missing coat. His heart twisted as he realised the scarf was also gone. Not so hurt that she didn’t want to have something like Crowley, but hurt enough to disappear. He grabbed his own coat. “Crowley,” he called, though his husband wasn’t far behind, “she can’t have gone far. Hurry.”

“No,” he agreed. “We'll split up. You take the town proper, I'll take the periphery. Someone has to have seen her at least.”

Aziraphale nodded, hesitating on the porch. He knew Crowley didn't like to do this, but, “If we can't find her soon, will you... Will you _look_?” 

Crowley grimaced but nodded. “Last resort.” Though it wouldn't be of any use if she somehow made it into the Infernal Woods.

“Yes. Make sure you pay very close attention, darling. Clearly, she knows how to be as quiet as I do.” Another thing they had in common. Honestly, what had the Angels been thinking? Or had they just been so determined to prove that they could handle someone like him that they hadn't been thinking at all? 

Aziraphale didn't know, and he didn't waste time thinking about it. A little girl who didn't know nearly enough about Halloween or about herself needed finding. He bounded down the steps and veered towards the town proper, and his husband slithered elsewhere. 

She hadn't been planning to leave. She hadn't _wanted_ to leave. She just hadn't been able to focus on the colours, swirling them idly on the paper and wondering why Aziraphale had found her in the big dark house if he didn't want her. Why he'd been so nice to her. 

And if they didn't want her, what were they planning on doing with her? 

She didn't know, and when she'd given up and made her way to the kitchen to ask, she'd heard them, heard Crowley saying the same, confusing things all over again. She wasn't theirs, she wasn't anybody's. It made her stomach feel tight in an unfamiliar way. If she'd had the words, she would've said _abandoned_. 

She'd wanted to run from the feeling more than she'd wanted to run from the house. So she'd taken the makeshift coat and the warm scarf, though she didn't wind it or tuck it in as well as Aziraphale had. It dragged along the ground as she ran, footsteps nearly soundless across the pavement. It made it easy to duck around and avoid the few townsfolk she saw, unsure if she should interact with them or not. Something deep in her mind said “stranger danger,” but the thing closer to the surface said that Halloween Town had no real strangers. And Aziraphale had already told her that very few beings posed any real danger. 

If only he'd told her which beings those were. 

The wagon caught her eye. It was a bright red in a world of hazy hues and reaching shadows. Even chipped, the paint was too different to be ignored. Not by her, anyway, curiosity guiding her closer. 

Her wrist was grabbed by a clammy, clawed hand before she could even touch it. The pointy-featured being grinned at her, and Alya felt her first frisson of true fear in this lifetime. “Look what we've got. Looks just like that doll Crowley married.”

“'Ziraphale?” she wondered, hoping they'd take her back to them or let her go so she could return herself. 

The other being turned, the fly-like being studying her with unusual eyes. “Zo zhe doez. Are you lozt, little doll?” 

“N-no.” Alya was pretty sure she wasn't, anyway. She'd only been looking for town square, for the fountain. It had seemed like a nice place to wait for someone to come around. Someone to talk to. Someone who might want her. 

But this clammy, strangely damp person flung her over their shoulder and climbed into the red wagon. “You are now.”

Her instinctive shout for help was cut off abruptly by a smack of tape over her mouth. Not as bad as being stitched, but similar enough that she wanted to escape. She wanted away from them. 

She wanted Aziraphale and Crowley. 

Aziraphale wanted her too. They were going to have to put taps on her shoes so they could hear her. It was more dignified than a bell. Yes, he could immediately think of several ways that could be muffled, but he didn't think a child as young as Alya would know to do so. 

But then he also hadn't expected her to run away. He'd underestimated her just as he'd been underestimated so many times by the Angels. He should know better. He should _be_ better. Perhaps he wasn't cut out for any sort of parenting. 

Though it was... uncanny just how much he had in common with her. His frantic pace slowed as he thought about the story she'd asked for - the happiest one Aziraphale knew. And then she'd peppered him with questions throughout. About the places they'd gone, about the beings involved. She knew Crowley had found Christmas Town deep in the Infernal Woods, but Aziraphale had also cautioned her against going because beings didn't typically return. 

She'd also asked about Spiral Hill and the graveyard, though she had the same uncomfortable feeling that she'd come from a hole in the ground that Aziraphale did, so they hadn't dwelled on the latter for long. And then what else? The fountain where Crowley had burst forth from that Halloween, his golden eyes glowing in the dark, dense fog. The same fountain where, later in the tale, Aziraphale had poured fog juice in an attempt to keep him safe. He'd even told her it was how the town had watched Crowley's Christmas theft attempt. 

There were other places, but those were the ones which had featured most prominently, as he'd downplayed the Angels' role as much as was reasonable. Where would she go? Where would _he_ go, given the story? 

Aziraphale turned on his heel and rushed for the town square and the fountain in it. It was a place where things happened, where stories started. And a child who believed themselves to be alone would want to start their story somewhere like that. She wouldn't go back to the manor. Of that, at least, he was certain. So the fountain was the logical choice. 

Except she wasn't there. She wasn't _anywhere_. Aziraphale twisted his ring around and around. “Alya!” he shouted, heedless of who might hear. His discomfort over being seen about town without Crowley couldn't possibly matter when a child was missing. He'd ask anyone who approached if they'd seen her, whether the person liked him or not. He'd approach anyone he had to. Oh, they just _had_ to find her. 

“Alya, where've you gone?!” 

While Aziraphale took to town, Crowley searched the outskirts. He went to the swamp first - she'd been fascinated by the bubbling and all the various fallen rotted trees. He peeked in every hollow stump and log and surveyed the muck for any sign of pastel pink.

There was none as far as he could see and Crowley desperately hoped she hadn't found a particularly deep section and sunk. She probably swam as poorly as Aziraphale did, waterlogged too easily and miserable for it. 

During his swamp search, Crowley stopped every being he came across to ask “Have you seen a little girl? Tiny. Looks- looks like Aziraphale?” None of the various lizard families had seen her, but he told them to be on the lookout and to bring her to him if they did. The hag coven that made the swamp their home hadn't seen her either.

How in the world had such a tiny little thing gone so far? And why had she run off? Crowley didn't think he'd been a big enough of a pillock to make her want to leave, but at the same time could remember all the times he'd opened his big mouth and upset Aziraphale. He still said stupid things, but at least now that they were together Aziraphale would give him A Look and just _tell_ him he was being a pill. Alya was, obviously, too young to do that.

With the swamp searched as thoroughly as it could be without taking a muck bath - The Them hadn't answered their door unfortunately - Crowley took his search to the cemetery. At the edge, where soft spongy soil turned dry and crumbly, he found Newt and Anathema picking nightshade flowers.

They hadn't seen her recently either, though at least they knew what little girl he meant, having seen her with him in town earlier. When they offered to help look, he turned them down. He'd do a quick sweep of the cemetery and then… well… do a _proper_ look. Hopefully, he'd be able to locate her and not get lost in it.

The cemetery was equally devoid of patchwork little girls. None of the vampires or skeletons had seen her and none of the open graves he passed held her. He actually wasn't sure she would even come here. Aziraphale had been hesitant about the place at first himself, knowing his brain had been exhumed from somewhere within, but did she share his trepidation?

He was starting to panic, properly panic, when he heard the familiar voices of The Them raised in argument from within a nearby mausoleum. When he peeked in, they were surrounding a coffin and arguing over whether they should open it or not.

“Oi, you lot, that one's empty last I checked. But get out here. I need you.”

The five of them shuffled out, Pepper managing to pinch Brian without getting slime anywhere. An important skill to have with him about. “What's wrong?” Adam asked. 

Crowley shuffled from foot to foot, feeling like he needed to keep moving. “Have you seen a little girl? Very little, looks like Aziraphale? All patchwork and pastel like? Need to find her as soon as possible.” 

Looks were exchanged, Wensleydale looking quite put-out and Pepper furious. “Actually... maybe. Is she yours?” 

“Nyrgh, no? Yes? Possibly? Look, I don't have time to explain! She could be hurt. She's _new_. I need to make sure she's alright.” 

Pepper huffed. “Well, she can't be yours _and_ not be yours. So she's either yours or she's the Demons' since they took her.”

“And it looked like they wanted to keep her.”

Crowley snarled and hissed. “Not on my bloody watch they aren't.” He turned to race back towards town, throwing over his shoulder “Stop by tomorrow to meet her properly!” 

They shouted their agreement in chorus, then Pepper punched Wensleydale in the shoulder. “I _told_ you.”

“How was I supposed to know Crowley and Aziraphale had a kid now?” He rubbed the tender skin, frowning at her. “Maybe all patchwork beings actually come out looking like Aziraphale.”

“We'll ask tomorrow,” Adam decided with a firm nod, his ghostly dog barking his agreement. “Now come on. If they've got a new kid now, we should bring her a present.”

Which meant mischief. The five of them smiled wickedly. 

Human legs were so excruciatingly slow. Luckily, Crowley was not limited to them. He shifted into his snake form, weaving between gravestones and deadened trees at top speed. The Demons were almost as bad as the Angels, though at least they didn’t try and hide it behind false smiles or faked indifference. There was no telling what sorts of things the Demons would do to a defenseless kid.

The fastest way was to cut straight through town, so Crowley slithered through the gate and headed for the square. Apparently luck was still favouring him because that’s where Aziraphale was, pacing and fretting and having already worked himself into quite a state.

“Angel! Grab on!” Crowley demanded and slithered right between his legs, lifting Aziraphale as he went.

“That was completely undignified,” Aziraphale complained, but held on to his husband and felt uncertainty and relief battling beneath the panic that insisted on bubbling. “You know where she is?” 

“Possssibly,” Crowley said, winding between buildings. “The Them sssay they ssaw… the Demonssss with her.”

Any relief vanished. “What would they want with her?!” 

“How the bloody fuck sssshould I know?”

“Well, you know them far better than I do. If either of us were going to know what sort of- of nefarious _scheme_ they're planning, it would be you.” Aziraphale clung to him a little tighter, cheek pressed against black scales. “Just hurry, dearest, please.”

“Hurrying assss fassst asss I can here.” Though he understood Aziraphale’s worry. The Demons might be no more than a nuisance to him, but to a small child? A patchwork child like Aziraphale? Very dangerous indeed.

The gate on the far end of town was a blur as they passed through it, as was the rocky field and hotsprings beyond. There was only one place the Demons would take a captive, and Crowley was getting very tired of seeing identical manors.

As was Aziraphale, stepping off Crowley when he finally stopped near the same side entrance they'd slipped through the last time. He hadn't intended to come back, well, ever, but needs must. “Would they take her to the basement straightaway, do you think?” he wondered, lock picked and door opened before he even finished the question. 

“Would be my first guess,” Crowley said quietly, slipping into the dark hall right behind Aziraphale and growing limbs again. “Luci’s little peons don’t think for themselves much.”

“And you have halved their thinking power,” Aziraphale pointed out, amused and quietly proud of the serpent beside him. But then he stilled. “You _halved_ their thinking power and she looks just like me. Oh, _Crowley_!” 

He'd been about to preen a bit, but paused at Aziraphale's sudden outburst. “Wot?” 

“Oh, you silly thing, don't you think that could be why they've taken her?” 

“Shit. You _did_ help embarrass Luci that Christmas. Kinda hoped they'd been more focused on me.” 

“I think, considering that we are very much married and everyone else's assumption over how she came about, it doesn't matter if they were more focused on you or me. She's going to be a target regardless.”

Crowley bristled at the thought of them going after Alya specifically. As much as it made his blood boil to think of them harming Aziraphale, it was one thing to target an adult, quite another to go after a defenseless child. “Aziraphale. I want you to get her out of here as soon as we find her. Things might get… Well, I don't want to frighten her.” 

Aziraphale nodded, tucking an arm around one of Crowley’s and tugging him along. “I'll take her straight home, then. We won't dilly-dally.”

“Good.” Crowley allowed Aziraphale to guide them through dusty corridors and down dilapidated stairs. The path eerily familiar, though tense for entirely different reasons. “I don't like that we haven't seen anyone yet.” 

“Nor do I.” Aziraphale held him a little tighter. “If they've hurt her, I...” He didn't know what he'd do that could possibly compare to simply leaving them with Crowley, but he knew he wanted to do something. She was too sweet and small and had only been in Halloween Town a day. He shook his head against the turns his imagination wanted to take, mind drifting uncomfortably to Ligur. If he could hurt him, could the other Demons? Was that just something they _knew_ how to do? “They're likely expecting us.”

“Let them,” Crowley growled, feeling his fangs lengthen, fingers sharpening into claws, the shadows on the stairs growing dark and impenetrable. “They can't stop us from taking her home.” 

“They won't.” Aziraphale squeezed his arm. “Would you like to go first? I can sneak around you.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, let me be a big annoying distraction.”

“Oh, you often are,” he teased, soothed into easy banter by how close they were to rescuing Alya. Aziraphale bobbed up and kissed him, something reminiscent of their first but not nearly as hesitant. 

He only allowed himself to linger for a brief moment, soothed somewhat by Aziraphale’s loving presence. “Don't wait for me.” Crowley didn't wait for a confirmation, turning on his heel and stalking around the corner into Lucifer's preferred torture chamber.

It had changed a bit, since the last time he was here. All the metal tables, iron maidens, and various other nefarious implements were pushed to the far walls, leaving the center with all its lava pools free of things to hide behind. A grotesque chair made from what looked liked melted down chains and shackles sat at the far end.

Lucifer was there in the spike-covered throne, watching the entry and waiting. He grinned a sharp, yellow-toothed smile when Crowley sauntered in. Dagon and Beelzebub were flanking him and behind Dagon he just caught a glimpse of pastel pink. From this vantage and distance it was hard for Crowley to tell if she was hurt, curled into a ball as she was. But she was curled up in a very small cage, and that was more than enough to infuriate. 

“I thought I told you not to mess with the beings I care about, Luci.” 

“Crowley!” Alya gasped, recognising his voice. 

Satan barely glanced her way. “Oh, you care about this tiny thing? My, my. You do like your toys, don't you?”

Crowley gritted his teeth and moved further in, the shadows of the hall behind following and clinging to him like a living cape. Hopefully covering Aziraphale’s entrance while also proving he wasn't messing around this time. “Disrespecting my family is not going to go well for you.”

“You’re getting soft, Crowley. A husband and now a child. Do you really think that’s the best... look for a Pumpkin King?” Satan’s eyes rolled, but he looked about curiously. “Where is that ball of fluff?”

“I would watch my tongue if I were you. ” Each pool spewed lava upward as he passed. “The last being who called me soft met a boiling end. Maybe you remember him? Think his name was Hastur? Ugly little toad? Not that there's anything wrong with soft, mind. Only someone as short sighted as you would see soft as something to look down on.” 

Aziraphale nearly rolled his eyes as he made his way through the darkness. He kept a hand on the uneven wall to help keep himself oriented, the shadows his husband conjured difficult to see through even with light inches away. He made his way around Lucifer’s throne, studying Alya’s back. She’d removed her coat and her scarf in deference to the heat, but the cage she was in didn’t allow her to stand. She could barely sit on her knees, instead sitting back on her heels and leaned forward with her hands on the bars in her attempts to watch Crowley.

He let her hear his feet shuffling, holding a finger up to his lips to keep her quiet when she turned. It should’ve been horrifying to watch only her head spin, but he could do the same thing. It didn't occur to him to be surprised.

When Crowley advanced, Dagon and Beelzebub trying to do the same, Aziraphale took the opportunity to step up and pick the lock. 

“Wow,” she breathed and he softly shushed her before urging her to get her things. He bundled her up, quick and neat, then scooped her up and onto his hip. “Hi, 'Ziraphale,” she whispered. 

“Hello, little dear. Let's go home, shall we?” She looked uncertain, so he poked her nose. “It's yours, too, if you'd like it to be.”

She still looked a little uncertain, gaze drifting Crowley’s way again, but she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, giving her a little bounce before the pair of them disappeared into the shadows again. He found the exit in short order and gently reached into the dark depths, fingers finding a firmer manifestation of those shadows. The claw-like thing gripped him briefly until it realised just who was touching it. Aziraphale knew Crowley couldn't feel what they did, but he hoped the thread of shadow could communicate to him somehow so he'd know he and Alya were safely out. 

Crowley stalled as long as he felt he could, trading verbal barbs and thinly veiled insults with the Demons' leader. Pride strong in his chest when he glimpsed Aziraphale behind the metal throne, Alya securely on his hip.

There was no way for him to know if they had left without tapping into powers he preferred not to, but he had to trust Aziraphale would not linger. He encouraged the shadows back to him, coiling about his legs. “We'll, once again, you've been out maneuvered, Luci.” 

He looked back at the empty cage and snarled. “ _How_?!” 

Crowley threw his head back and cackled. “Do you not listen to a word I say? I told you Aziraphale was the sneakiest bastard I knew.”

“That little girl izn't,” Beelzebub muttered. “Zhe doezn't weigh a thing, and zhe doezn't run. Zhe waz _eazy_.”

“I'm sure she was,” Crowley responded, face darkening. “She's a _child_!” The various metal implements and devices began to rattle as the very ground below and around them started to quake. “And I will not suffer you coming after her again.” 

Dagon gnashed her teeth, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. “What're you going to do? Same thing you did to the Angels? Makin' a real name for yourself, Crowley.”

Satan chuckled. “Oh, yes. A murderous Pumpkin King. Flicking away his dissenters. Quite the legacy.”

“You see, that's the beauty of it. I haven't killed a single being.” The ground rolled, upending tables and knocking over cages and other torture devices. “And my legacy will be protecting the ones I love, which is more than could be said of yours.” The lava pools began to overflow, liquid rock spilling across the floor. 

“That's enough,” Satan snapped, wooden and metal alike melting in the molten heat. It began to be sweltering, even for him. “You have your brat back.”

“For now,” Dagon muttered, unable to resist. 

“You don't tell me when enough is enough you over-inflated windbag. I'm the king here, and I think it's high time you lot learned just what that means.” The very earth the basement was built from reached out with stone hands, wrapping around Lucifer and pinning him to his makeshift throne. The lava did the same, cooling and hardening as it snaked around Dagon and Beelzebub, sealing their feet and legs to the floor and chaining their arms.

“I hope you enjoy each other's company. As you'll be your only entertainment until I've decided you've learned your lesson.” Crowley turned, ignoring the screams of rage at his back. As he stepped through the entryway, lava rose behind him and sealed the way in thick rock.

The hall and stairs beyond were dark and cool without the light and heat from before. Crowley breathed a sigh, letting go of the power he'd gathered. There was no sign of Aziraphale or Alya, which he was glad for as he retraced his steps back outside.

He wanted to go home and hold his husband and, hopefully, Alya too.

Aziraphale’s hands moved in a steady rhythm. Slow enough for her to follow along, the needle and thread worked in patterns that kept her attention as easily as his words. Another story, this one from a book, kept her attention as much as the sewing and the biscuits they were sharing. 

If this was home, she liked it. 

The door opening made her a little nervous, though. Aziraphale paused mid-stitch, studying the floor and the windows and the light, but nothing seemed any different to her. And, it seemed, nothing seemed different to him either. 

“We're in the parlour, dearest!” he called out, and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Don't fret, my dear. He'll be happy to see you.”

She wasn't so sure, so pressed against Aziraphale’s soft side and waited quietly. 

Crowley shuffled into the parlour, following after Aziraphale’s voice. What little tension was left in his shoulders bled out at the sight of them on the sofa together. His family was safe and that was the most important thing.

“Alya,” he said softly, coming to the sofa and kneeling on the floor before her, taking her hands in his. “I'm so glad you're alright.” 

“Mmhm. The fishy one cut my arm, but 'Ziraphale fixed it. See?” She poked at a fresh little seam up one arm. “She had sharp claws, but it didn't hurt at all.”

Crowley let out a small growl before he could stop himself. “Well, you were very brave, small fry. And they won't ever bother you again, I promise.” 

“Okay.” She accepted it easily, though Aziraphale had plans to ask what he'd done later. “They said you'd come, but I thought... You said I didn't have anybody.”

“Oh, Alya,” Crowley whispered, feeling his heart break just a bit. “I never meant to make you feel I wouldn't come for you. You can always rely on me to be there, and I'm so sorry I made you feel otherwise.” 

“You can rely on both of us,” Aziraphale promised, sewing set aside so he could stroke her soft curls. “We didn't want you to run off, little one.”

“Even though I'm not yours?” 

Crowley stole a quick glance at Aziraphale who raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Yes,” he said, giving the small hand in his a squeeze. “Because while you were colouring, Aziraphale and I were talking to each other about asking you if you would like to be. Ours, that is. If you would like to be a part of our little family.”

She gasped. “Really?! You want me?” 

Aziraphale chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Yes. After all that, I'd prefer to never let you out of my sight again.”

“Of course we want you, small fry, if you want us too.” 

She wiggled excitedly. “I like- I want to be-” Nodding, Alya reached for a hug. “Please.”

Crowley laughed and scooped her up, quickly taking her spot next to Aziraphale and setting her in his lap. “Then it's settled. You're ours.” 

Aziraphale leaned against his husband, smile soft, and brushed a hand through her hair. “No more running away, alright? Not until you know a bit more about Halloween Town.”

“Okay.” Alya giggled, happily settled with them. “I don’t want to run away again. I like you. Are you gonna teach me how to sew?” 

“Yes, sweetheart. Someone needs to.”

“And Aziraphale is the best seamster in town. No one better to learn from.” Crowley laid his head on his husband's shoulder, soaking up the warmth under his cheek. 

“Thank you, darling.” Aziraphale turned to nuzzle into his hair, smile soft and fond. “And thank you for rescuing her twice. For today and for before.”

“Mmm, s'no problem. Part of the job, innit? Protecting everyone, especially the ones I love.” 

“Yes. You did call us your family.”

Alya wiggled out of Crowley’s hold. “I'm gonna get my colours. Can I?” 

“Yes, you can, but bring them to the kitchen table. I still need to make us all some lunch.”

“Okay!” 

She scampered off and Aziraphale relaxed more fully against his husband on a huff of a sigh. “That went well, I think.”

Crowley hummed in agreement and tilted his head to kiss Aziraphale's cheek. “Resilient little thing, ain't she?” 

“Well...” Aziraphale held out a hand, turning it this way and that to show off the fabric lining. “Resilience rather comes with this, I think.”

Snickering, Crowley reached out to trail featherlight touches across said hand and up his arm. “Oh yes, I'm very well aware of how durable you are, angel.”

Laughing, Aziraphale took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “We'll have to be more careful when you want to, ah, test my durability, dearest. We have a child in the house now.”

“Fuck, you're right. Can't have my wicked way with you whenever I want anymore.” 

Amused, Aziraphale leaned in to capture his lips instead. “At night, in bed. We’ll see how quiet you can be.”

Crowley let out a soft hiss before twining his fingers in Aziraphale's curls to pull him in for a longer kiss. A quiet giggle from the other side of the room had him breaking it with a whispered curse. “I think that means it's time for lunch.” 

“It’s time for lunch,” Aziraphale confirmed, wiggling off the couch. “Come along, little one. Why don’t I make us a cake?”

“Yes, please!” Alya beamed at them both, but her gaze shifted to Crowley. “Do you want to colour with me?”

“I suppose I could suffer such indignity.” Crowley pushed himself up to follow them. “So long as you don't mind scribbles. Aziraphale's the artist here.” 

“ _I_ have lunch to make. You’ll both have to make do with scribbles.” Aziraphale gathered her things to set them on the table whilst Crowley swept her up and settled her in her chair with an extra little squeeze that made her giggles bounce off the walls.

An unconventional start to a family, perhaps, but Aziraphale rather liked it. It was far from lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> Hard to believe that this little story that started with [ some truly wonderful art](https://saminander.tumblr.com/post/631796499994591232/my-dearest-friend-if-you-dont-mind) has somehow spiraled into 9 parts. Thanks, Sami! Couldn't have kept this up without you and your continued excitement and support for this series!!! 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who's followed us on the journey through this world! Through the softness and the insanity, it's been a fun ride in all the not-fun of 2020. Here's to you and to the hopes that 2021 is better for all of us! Happy New Year! 🥳

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


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